


Mare Liberum

by PelagicNemo



Category: Vingt mille lieues sous les mers | Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seas - Jules Verne
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-06-26 01:11:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19757521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PelagicNemo/pseuds/PelagicNemo
Summary: This picks up exactly where the novel left off. It is not a short work. It is complicated, like them! There is separation, pining, learning, challenge.  This originated on tumblr, there you will find the blog Mare Liberum by pelagicnemo, dedicated to this story, and to all who care about them. And a place for those who want to hang out and meet others of like mind.





	1. Chapter 1

This introduction is from the book itself. I have used the completely restored and annotated edition from the Naval Institute Press (United States, 1993).

_. . . By then it was 9:30. I clasped my head in both hands to keep it from bursting. I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to think anymore. One half hour still to wait! One half hour of nightmares that could drive me insane!_

_Just then I heard vague chords from the organ, melancholy harmonies to some indefinable melody, the wail of a soul longing to break its ties with the earth. I listened with all five senses at once, scarcely breathing, plunged like Captain Nemo into that musical trance that was drawing him to the edge of this world._

_A sudden thought terrified me. Captain Nemo had left his room! He was out there in the salon, which I would have to walk through in order to escape. I would encounter him there for one final meeting. He would see me, maybe speak to me! One gesture from him could obliterate me, one word could chain me to his ship!_

_Even so, ten p.m. was about to strike - time to leave my cabin and join my companions._

_I dared not hesitate, even if Captain Nemo stood in my way. I opened my door cautiously, but as it turned on its hinges it seemed to make a dreadful noise. But maybe I imagined that._

_I moved slowly through the_ Nautilus _’s dark corridors, stopping only in vain efforts to slow down my heart._

_I reached the corner door of the salon and opened it gently. The room was completely dark, filled with soft chords from the organ. Captain Nemo was there but he didn’t see me. Even in broad daylight I’m sure he wouldn’t have noticed me, so completely was he immersed in his music._

_I stepped inch by inch across the carpet, avoiding anything that would make a noise and betray my presence. It took me all of five minutes to get to the door at the far end that led into the library._

_I was just about to open it when a gasp from Captain Nemo nailed me to the spot. I realized he was standing up, I could even glimpse him now in the faint light that came from the library. He was coming toward me, arms crossed, silent, not really walking but gliding like some spectral being. His chest was heaving with sobs. And he murmured these words, the last I would ever hear him speak:_

_“O Almighty God! Enough! Enough!”_

_Was this a vow of repentance escaping from his conscience . . .?_

We all know that Professor Aronnax, servant and assistant Conseil, and harpooner Ned Land survived their escape and, not long after his return to Paris in July of 1868, Professor Aronnax published his memoir of the voyage. The following is what we didn’t know. 

**CHAPTER ONE**

He had known pain before. Immense pain. But this was tearing him to pieces from the inside out, not the outside in, as before. He found his way to his quarters and half-collapsed on the bench next to his worktable. He was still crying, his body shaking with the force, but he was also completely silent, denying himself the natural sounds that were struggling to emerge.

He buried his head in his arms on the table.

_This has to stop. We can’t go on like this, none of us. Sinking those two ships did nothing for India, nothing for us, nothing for them. Just more wounding, harm, and needless, cruel death. I have now brought to the sea everything I have hated about the violence on land. I have turned into the worst of that which I have opposed, dragged my friends down with me, and disgraced the_ Nautilus _. I have deliberately chosen hate and vengeance over wise advice, comradeship, friendship, and even love. I have harmed everyone. One man and his friends cannot take down an Empire, we lost everything and everyone just trying to defend our home region, which we also lost. It didn’t work then, it’s not working now. This insidious poison. It has to stop, it has to stop . . ._

He ran out of words, even in thought, the words disintegrating along with the merciless self-control. He cried aloud, unable to keep silence any longer, and cried until there was nothing left, and not knowing if he’d been doing it for minutes or hours or even days. All that was left after the storm raged was just a mortal and flawed human being, with his head on the table, at his utter limits, looking blankly at the bulkhead.

He thought about getting up, but decided not to move at all. Maybe he could just stay like this for ever, not moving except for breathing. Not making mistakes. 

_I need to apologise profoundly to the Professor, and also to Ranjit and Raj and my other friends. And I have to somehow find a way to tell the Professor I did not mean what I said when he came to my quarters —_

He heard shouts, running feet on metal decks, hatches slamming. He thought he felt the _Nautilus_ make a sudden hard turn to starboard.

He still did not move. He could hear Ranjit’s voice shouting commands as the chief officer raced through the salon on his way to the pilothouse.

Nemo thought again about just staying where he was. Then shouts finally wound their way into words in his mind, then the words became one word, and then he understood the word.

_Maelstrom!_

That one fearsome word ripped the fog from his mind and, before he could make any conscious thought, he was up so quickly, he knocked the bench over and was out of his quarters before it even hit the deck.

He raced for the pilothouse, staggering as the _Nautilus_ heeled over, then began making violent motions that no ship was ever designed to perform. He clawed his way up the companionway, finally gaining the pilothouse, pushing through to take the wheel. 

‘Ranjit, you on the controls! Raj, you with me on the wheel!’

He didn’t look at any of the instruments, there was no need for compass or chart. It was just water, flying spume restricting visibility. He couldn’t even see across the platform in spite of the powerful beacon and the fact that it was still light outside. The _Nautilus_ rolled and bucked, cracked and moaned, stood on end, the spur pointed to the sky as Nemo and his friends fought the controls, tried to hang on to anything they could grab so that they wouldn’t be dashed against the bulkheads, the deck, the overhead.

Nemo worked the wheel based only on what feeling was transmitted through it from the rudder. The noise was unbearable. He could tell Ranjit was shouting something, but he couldn’t hear his oldest friend’s voice even though the man was right beside him on the controls.

Finally, Nemo could feel that the rudder and screw were no longer useless in the air and air-filled sea. His hands could feel as the screw began to work against solid water, the rudder reacting to pressure. The noise began to lessen, the _Nautilus_ began to stabilise, he could hear Ranjit.

Water streamed away from the pilothouse windows, drained off the platform. The sea was roiled now, but was no longer trying to draw the _Nautilus_ down. Nemo worked the wheel to get his ship’s bow into the seas for better handling.

‘What happened? What made it stop?’ Raj asked, his voice shaking, his brown face ashen, as was Ranjit’s and Nemo’s and everyone else on board. Jean-Michel looked positively green and had gotten sick, but had not interrupted his duty.

‘The tide,’ Nemo said, his own voice rough, more than a bit shaky. ‘The tide turned and it broke the vortex. I’m surprised the vortex didn’t break us. The _Nautilus_ was never designed for this. Ranjit, go get James, the two of you sound the whole ship, then look for any structural damage or weakness. Raj, you and Jean-Michel start in the engine compartment and work your way through our hidden decks and on up, account for every one of our friends and the Professor and his companions. If there are any major injuries, call me here. Professor Aronnax is also a doctor, and if there is anything he needs to treat his or our people that we don’t have on board, I shall personally go ashore and get whatever it might be, and that as quickly as I can.’

The three departed the pilothouse, leaving Nemo and Simon to run the _Nautilus_.

As the three walked through the dining room, library and salon, they were surprised by the mess, but equally surprised that there wasn’t even more damage. More books had stayed in the shelves than had fallen out because of the small brass rail a few centimetres above the shelf.

Some of the furniture in the salon had toppled, and one painting had lost its attachment to the bulkhead. Some of the things in the glass cases had come loose, some were broken, but much was also still intact.

They slipped through the hidden door that led to the ship’s main living area, the part of the ship that the Professor and his companions had no idea existed. The main lounge was much like the salon and library, books and objects scattered around, some of the furniture upended. The commons was a nest of tangled chairs, though the tables were bolted to the deck. And that was the deck where they found most of their off-duty friends. No major injuries, but there were some cuts and bruises and shattered nerves. Quickly, they explained the situation, then continued down to the engine compartment. 

‘I don’t look forward to seeing my quarters,’ Ranjit said. ‘But we’re so lucky . . . it looks like what we have most to do is a lot of house cleaning.’

When they arrived at the engine compartment, they found James, the chief engineer, tending two of his men. Seamus, the second engineer, had struck his head, and was lying down on the deck, awake and aware, someone’s jacket under his head for a pillow. Indra was sitting in a chair, his boot removed before a twisted ankle could swell overmuch and trap his foot. All three of them showed bruises and a few cuts from the rough ride amongst machinery.

James stood up when the three came into the compartment.

He frowned and signed immediately. ‘What happened? There was no warning!’

Ranjit began to explain the Maelstrom while Raj and Jean-Michel talked to their injured friends. 

Soon, Raj and Jean-Michel left the compartment after calling Nemo in the pilothouse to report about Seamus and Indra. They made their way through the private quarters deck, opening every door, even empty rooms, in case someone took refuge and was hurt. When they opened Ranjit’s door, they both laughed, for his quarters looked the same as ever. His desk buried in papers and books, bed unmade, sofa covered with his clean clothes. The only sign of anything amiss was the strong scent of shaving balm coming out of the head. 

‘The _Nautilus_ is going to smell odd for days, everyone’s toilet items being in glass jars, and those all broken, on every deck and in every room,’ Raj said.

‘It could be a lot worse than that, so I’ll happily put up with the excessive fragrance. We have not smelt any sewer at all yet. If that system had broken, including the piping, could you just imagine?’ Jean-Michel said. They continued their way through. 

With Nemo and Simon in the pilothouse, by the time Raj and Jean-Michel regained the salon deck, everyone of the _Nautilus_ company had been accounted for. Nearly everyone had bruises, and there were no few cuts and scrapes. But the only ones who needed extra attention were Indra and Seamus. They had got away very lucky.

Jean-Michel went to the door of Mr Conseil and Mr Land’s quarters, and Raj went to the Professor’s. Both cabins were empty of people, and with the usual mess. Papers on the deck, the odd book and artifact, the scent of broken toiletries.

‘They’re probably in the pilothouse with Nemo. This must have scared them even more than it did us,’ Raj said. ‘And with us, it was quite bad enough!’

When they returned to the pilothouse, it was just Nemo and Simon. Nemo was writing in the log, and Simon had the wheel.

‘Captain,’ Raj said, signalling by use of the title that he had something important to report. ‘All of the _Nautilus_ company are accounted for, and there are only the two injuries already reported. But, we thought the Professor and his companions were up here with you. We have been over every inch of the _Nautilus_ , and have not seen any of them. Were they here, and left before we got here?’

Startled, Nemo froze for a moment, his pen in mid-air. Then he set it down.

‘No, Raj, we haven’t seen them,’ he said quietly, and he looked very worried.

‘Jean-Michel would you remain here with Simon whilst Raj and I investigate further?’

‘Of course,’ Jean-Michel said, taking Nemo’s place by the chart table, with easy access to the controls should Simon need him.

‘Thank you,’ Nemo said, and immediately quit the pilothouse, Raj right behind him. First, Nemo went to the quarters of Mr Conseil and Mr Land. There were papers scattered across the desk, and the deck. Nemo carefully picked the ones off the deck, leafing through them. then scanned quickly through the ones on the desk. He put them all together, then stacked them neatly.

‘These are all rough notes, meant to be transcribed into final form in a journal. Conseil had one, I’ve seen him transferring his notes into it.’

Nemo looked all over the room, and even peered into the head. He then came back out, and looked into the clothing locker.

‘Both of their outdoor gear is gone,’ he said quietly. ‘And so is Mr Conseil’s journal.’

With a long stride, Nemo left the room and went straight to the Professor’s quarters.

Upon arriving at that door, Nemo stopped, his hand on the lever. He drew a deep breath, his face now impassive, unreadable. He opened the door and walked inside. It was the same scene, there were papers and some books scattered about, some on the deck, some on the desk. Nemo picked everything off the deck, then laid the books and papers out on the desk, examining them quickly.

Raj noticed a small green journal in a corner that Nemo had missed. He bent to pick it up, and opened the cover. It was a sketchbook, and the drawings inside were done by the hand of someone greatly gifted.

‘I didn’t know Professor Aronnax was an artist,’ Raj said, leafing through the book.

Nemo was still skimming through the papers. ‘Oh, he is. And an unusually good one, from what I’ve seen. Many naturalists are, as they have to draw things that they find in perfect detail, either _in situ_ , or from memory. But the Professor seems to have a genuine talent for it.’

Nemo set the other papers down. ‘Again, these are all rough notes, and rough drawings. The Professor also had a journal, that seems to be missing as well.’

‘Nemo,’ Raj said gently. ‘You might want to see this art book. It looks like every single drawing… well, it’s all drawings of you. It looks like a few pages were carefully cut out, I’d guess those were of you, as well.’

Nemo turned slowly, his face still unreadable, and his eyes were lowered. Raj silently handed him the book. He took it in both hands, a slight tremour visible. He opened the cover, leafed through the pages, nearly unable to breathe. If he thought the Professor a gifted artist, he’d never seen anything like this. It was true, every drawing was of him. Him sitting at his own worktable, writing. Playing the organ. Looking out through the panels in the salon. At the wheel. Him bent over the chart table, a frown of concentration as he annotated the chart. Even a picture of when he’d fallen asleep on a sofa in front of the uncovered panels, sea life visible, an open book resting on his chest. A picture of him reading whilst actually awake. A close, detailed study of his hands . . . 

Nemo’s eyes closed, and his hands closed the book. He couldn’t bear to see any more. There were no words in this journal, not a single one, not even a signature. He knew what he looked like, he knew these likenesses were highly accurate. What he hadn’t been prepared for was to see himself through the eyes of another person. These drawings had an intimacy that startled him. And every single one had been made with full awareness, and the love and care of the artist leapt off every page.

He closed his eyes as he fought for impassive balance. He was failing, but he had to try.

He put the green sketchbook back on the desk, and looked through the rest of Professor Aronnax’s quarters, and found the same story. Journal gone, some drawings from the art book gone, all the foul weather gear gone. Pierre, gone . . . 

He stood in the middle of the room, mind racing. How could all three of them just vanish? They couldn’t have gained the platform, the hatch opening would have set off many alarms for the breaching of the integrity of the _Nautilus_. 

There could only be one thing.

Without a word, Nemo raced out of the quarters, ran full tilt through the salon, then the library, took the companionway three steps at a time, Raj struggling to follow. The look on Nemo’s face was terrible. He’d gone ashen, frightened.

He hit the control to open the hatch to the platform, and reached it so quickly he had to squeeze through the narrow opening like a ferret, the which he easily did. He raced to the end of the platform. And stopped.

The pinnace. It was gone. 

He took one, two, three steps closer to peer down at the empty slot. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Eight.

Standing on the edge. Looking down. Bolts. Sheared off halfway down. Raj now next to him.

‘What is it, Nemo?’ Raj’s voice oddly gentle.

‘They were escaping. It looks like they got the pinnace only partway unbolted before the Maelstrom took us,’ Nemo said, his voice jagged. ‘And it took them.’ This said so quietly, Raj barely heard.

All Raj could do was turn around and use the sign language to the watching Ranjit in the pilothouse.

‘Come NOW! This very bad!’

Nemo sank slowly to his knees, his clenched hands resting on his thighs, his entire body visibly tense. Raj knelt beside him, covered one clenched hand with his own. Nemo’s head was down, his disarrayed black hair hiding his eyes. 

A choking sob. A second. Tears streaming down his face.

Ranjit raced across the platform, nearly skidding into sending all three of them overboard. He caught himself, knelt on Nemo’s other side. His strong, warm hands gripped Nemo’s shoulders in silent comfort. And to keep his friend from doing anything rash.

Nemo was completely still except for his efforts to be silent, each failure ending in another choking sob, a gasping for breath.

Then he tipped his head back. His eyes were tightly closed, forehead furrowed, the tears still streaming. His face was twisted with grief. His mouth opened.

A piercing wail was ripped from his throat.

Inside the still-enclosed pinnace, the chaos gradually resolved itself, the motions lessened. Right before the electric lamp had gone out, one that Ned had affixed to a thwart, Ned and Conseil had seen the Professor’s head strike a nearby beam, and both had immediately pinned him to the deck with their own bodies, holding on to beams with their free hands, bracing with their legs against other beams to avoid being tossed about inside their iron capsule. 

After what felt like an eternity, the pinnace began to stabilise, they could feel the sea beginning to calm. They remained in place for more minutes, still hanging on, until the pinnace rode easily on a gentle swell. 

Ned sighed, slowly lowering himself to the bottom, carefully moving away from the Professor. ‘That was rough,’ he said. ‘Conseil, let go, we’re safe now. But settle for a moment, I need to get the spare lamp out of the satchel.’

Conseil let go, lowering himself to sit beside the Professor. He reached over and placed his hand on the Professor’s chest. He could feel the other man was breathing properly and evenly. He next placed his fingers on the neck, feeling for a heartbeat. The beat was steady and strong. But there was no response at all to being touched.

Ned extracted the lamp from the satchel and activated it. Immediately, both men could see why there had been no response from the Professor. His forehead was already showing bruising, and there was a four-centimetre jagged cut at his hairline. The iron beam was not smooth, he must have caught an iron spur when his head struck.

Conseil reacted immediately, withdrawing two clean handkerchiefs from his pocket, and undoing his outer coat to remove the sash from his waist. He asked Ned for one of the flasks of water, and was immediately provided it.

‘Do you need help?’ Ned asked, concerned at the sight of blood in the Professor’s hair and his pale, unresponsive face.

Before Conseil could answer, the small tank that held a ten-minute supply of air stopped hissing. The air was now gone.

‘I can take care of the Professor, Ned. Do what you need for the pinnace,’ Conseil said, laying out the handkerchiefs, the cloth sash, and opening the flask.

Ned nodded, and shifted himself to the stern, unlatching the aft decking, and beginning to slide it forward. As soon as it was opened just a crack, Ned made a surprised noise. ‘It’s not dark at all, Conseil! We must be farther North than I thought.’ Ned pushed the decking forward until there was enough room for him to stand. The storm had blown itself out earlier, and Ned could see the pinnace trailing a visible wake. Current, but was it tidal stream or ocean? The fog that he had seen in the morning was now thick and unpenetrable with no wind to disturb it. He looked in every direction, but could not see more than a cable’s distance. 

He bent to move the decking forward just enough more to allow him to ship the tiller and seat himself on the after thwart, but to also keep the Professor and Conseil under cover. For now, he was content to let the unknown current carry them since there was no wind, and he could save his strength in case they found themselves in a situation later which would require rowing.

Soon, Conseil joined him. ‘No change,’ he said before Ned could form the question. ‘I washed and bandaged the wound, and stabilised his head with my indoor jacket and his coat hood as a pillow. I covered his hands, so he is warm and dry. There really isn’t anything else I can do except wait for him to awaken on his own.’

Conseil looked around. ‘No sight or sound of the _Nautilus_?’

‘None,’ said Ned. ‘So here we are, finally free. But I don’t know where we are, what direction we’re going, if we’re riding a flood tide, an ebb tide, or an ocean current. This fog can’t last forever. I would be fine with things as they are right now, but I’m worried about the Professor.’

‘I am, too, Ned,’ Conseil said quietly. 

Silence settled over the pinnace as the two men stared into the fog ahead, drifting into the unknown.

_**NOTES:** As a modern mariner, I know that the fearsome Norwegian Maelstrom in Verne’s novel is not a factual thing. There is one that occurs but, in reality, it would not disturb the _Nautilus _unduly, if at all. It would merely annoy the pinnace. Since this story starts from where the canon left off, we will, for the sake of fiction, accept this wild sea-story as a fact. But only this once!_

_This Maelstrom, however, serves a very important purpose for both this tale and Verne’s later telling of Nemo’s story. In poetry and literature, a Maelstrom is often used as a very significant metaphor for death followed by rebirth. Through Hell and back, the ultimate second chance to get things right. Thus it is so for Nemo and his friends._


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO  
  
Nemo’s outburst surprised both his friends and, especially, himself. And then there were no tears left. His eyes, exhausted, his throat, sore. Instead, he found himself looking down at the empty slot, his mind jarred into awareness of what exactly was in front of him.  
He began speaking his observations.  
‘The hatch on the _Nautilus_ side is completely and correctly shut and dogged down. Mr Land’s seamanship is superb, and he would be very thorough, very careful, having only the one chance.’  
Nemo gestured to the bottom part of the empty slot. ‘The bolts are sheared off halfway down. The only way that could happen is if they already had the pinnace partially unbolted when the Maelstrom took them. Which means the pinnace hatch would have already been correctly sealed and dogged down, and they would not have undecked it yet, and thus it was watertight.’  
He raised his head, looking outward into the thick fog.  
‘They are out there somewhere. It would have been impossible for the pinnace to sink, or be drawn down without it coming right back up. But they may be badly injured, the motions would have been very violent.’  
All three looked around carefully, but the fog strictly limited visibility.  
Nemo got to his feet, and walked over to the starboard edge of the platform, peering closely at the water against the hull of the _Nautilus_. ‘The tide that broke the Maelstrom is a strong flood tide. The pinnace would have recovered more quickly than the _Nautilus_ , and would now be drawn toward the East on that tide, toward the land that Ranjit saw earlier, probably fairly rapidly. Ranjit, please go take the wheel, Raj, take the controls. We will begin quartering the area. I will remain on the platform and conduct orders in the signed language, and act as lookout. If they are injured, they will need our help.’  
‘But what if we find them and they refuse our aid?’ Ranjit asked quietly.  
Nemo turned his head away, and looked down at the platform. ‘I came one day too late . . . to the realisation that attacking the two British warships has done nothing for India, but has caused great harm to all of us. The last weeks have been terrible. I hid myself, wanted to die, and left all of you to drift. We cannot continue like this. Right before the Maelstrom, I decided that we will not go on like this anymore, and I was going to go to the Professor and ask his forgiveness for something I had said and done last month. And offer to take them to their home countries. I know Mr Land was desperate to leave. I think the Professor, at one time, would have chosen to freely stay, but after last month, and then me sinking that second warship, he could no longer remain.’  
Nemo paused, then looked at both of his friends. ‘And I was going to go to all of you, my friends, my brothers, and ask your forgiveness, too. And I shall still do that. But for now, we must try and find that pinnace. Whether they accept or refuse our aid, if we find them, I will promise to take them home.’  
  
  
  
Conseil and Ned were beginning to feel tired, most particularly Ned. They had been drifting on the current for about three hours. Ned finally shook his head. ‘I need some sleep. At least a good nap. Conseil, can you hold the tiller for a few hours? Just keep us going with the current.’  
Conseil, still as calm as if they were seated in the salon, nodded and gave one of his gentle smiles. ‘Yes, I can. I can work both oars and tiller, and even the sail if it’s not unduly rough,’ he said.  
Ned’s eyes widened, then he grinned. ‘You have as many hidden talents as the Professor! We’ll make a good crew, the two of us.’  
Ned got up, passing the tiller to Conseil, and went forward to stretch out beside the still-motionless Professor Aronnax. He arranged his coat for warmth and comfort, pillowed his head on his hood and folded arm, and was asleep immediately.  
It couldn’t have been more than an hour by Conseil’s reckoning, but suddenly he saw a dark mass in the fog. ‘Ned! There is land ahead! Two cables, maybe less!’ he called.  
Ned wakened immediately, and rejoined Conseil. ‘Well, my friend, this is where we start rowing. I need to gauge these waters. We can trade off back and forth, one of us on the tiller, one on the oars, trade places every thirty minutes. And if given the chance, we’ll get you a nap.’  
Conseil smiled. ‘I’m ready to row. If you need to gauge these waters, it’s best with you on the tiller, to see everything ahead.’  
‘Then turn to, my friend!’ Ned said.  
Conseil moved the decking forward enough to expose a midship thwart, still leaving the Professor’s upper body under cover, then shipped his oars and began to row with an even, unhurried stroke.  
Taking it in turns, oars and tiller, Ned and Conseil broke their fast, eating fish rolls from Ned’s cache of food. They were able to comfortably keep the pinnace moving. The air was cool, but not cold, the turns at rowing kept them quite warm and kept them alert and awake. And finally, the fog began to burn away on the land, though it was still thick and unpenetrable seaward. They had been rowing, turn on turn, for about five hours, so it was properly morning by now. And the wind began to rise.  
‘Enough of the rowing, it’s time to let the wind do its work,’ Ned announced. Moving carefully, he slid the mast aft to free it from the covered part of the pinnace, stepped it, then hoisted the sail. They began tacking up the coast, and that smartly.  
‘I think we’re safe now, Conseil,’ said Ned. ‘The _Nautilus_ can’t come this close to shore, and they can’t see us even if they’re still out there.’  
  
  
  
Nemo had given up pacing the platform. When Ranjit came back up with food, he was sitting on the beacon housing. Ranjit pressed three fish rolls into his friend’s hands.  
‘You need to eat, Nemo. And then go below and sleep for at least a few hours. I’ll relieve you here, continue your search pattern. And if I see anything, you will know immediately.’  
Nemo looked like he was going to refuse both the fish rolls and the good advice, but Ranjit gave him a look that brooked no argument. And he realised he was, indeed, too tired to argue. Ranjit took a perch of his own on the housing and began eating his breakfast. Reluctantly, Nemo chose a fish roll and began to eat.  
Twenty minutes later, he was sound asleep on a sofa in the salon, only taking the time to remove his boots before lying down and settling his head on a pillow.  
It was now Ranjit’s turn to pace the platform, keeping a 360-degree watch. He stared into the stubborn fog, disliking the lack of visibility, and the resulting requirement to go ever so slowly. They did not dare any speed for the risk of running the pinnace down should they actually find it.  
Whilst Ranjit kept watch, he found himself with time to think. Nemo’s deep grief at the loss of the pinnace and its passengers. There could only be one real emotional focus of that - Professor Pierre Aronnax. It had not escaped his notice that a certain accord had been growing between his oldest friend and the intellectually-gifted Professor starting around the end of January. He knew that Professor Aronnax’s book had been placed among Nemo’s favourite reading well before the man himself had been cast aboard the _Nautilus_.  
Nemo had begun to spend more time in the Professor’s company, and had been taking him places, showing he and his friends things, and sometimes just the Professor. The pearl fishery. Inviting the Professor into the wheelhouse to witness the transit of the Arabian Tunnel whilst his companions slept. Sailing into the influence of an underwater volcano so the Professor could experience the eruption first hand. Even explaining the source of wealth that the men of the _Nautilus_ alone could access.  
And Nemo had taken the Professor, and he alone, on a dive to a ruined city of Atlantis. He had not invited Mr Land or Conseil, nor even Ranjit or any of his other friends.  
Ranjit had noticed on the journey from the home port of the _Nautilus_ to the extreme South Pole, Nemo was working on his own research, and leaving things - notes and open books - for the Professor to find.  
That accord seemed to be growing, it was very evident when they reached Antarctica. But the morning after Nemo had taken his sights, planted the flag of the _Nautilus_ , something had changed. And once they had cleared the ice that nearly entrapped them for eternity, Nemo had stopped seeking the Professor’s company entirely. Ranjit also knew for the next month after, Nemo had been sleeping most nights in one of the empty cabins on the hidden residential deck, returning to his own only at night to get things he needed or wanted. Unusual, indeed. He had not asked his oldest, closest friend about it, but with hindsight, maybe he should have done…  
  
  
  
Conseil had the tiller. The Canadian could see that his friend was tiring, and he started looking at the close-in land, searching for a place where they could safely beach the pinnace, and take some proper sleep. Before he could even make the suggestion, Conseil’s eyes widened and he straightened up on the thwart. He was about to speak but, based on his expression, Ned immediately turned in the direction in which his friend was looking. He saw a fishing village. A harbour. A refuge.  
‘I see it!’ Ned said. ‘I’ll take the tiller.’ Conseil nodded calmly, and Ned took his place on the stern thwart..  
Ned steered them into the natural harbour and, once inside, he could see people on the strand, tending nets and boats. There was a good-sized boat house where a half-built fishing vessel was visible. There were wooden houses and a small wooden church.  
Conseil took the time to turn round and study the village for himself. He then got up to move the decking farther forward, so that the Professor could be seen. When he regained his seat, Ned nodded toward him. ‘I’m going to let you call to them. You have more languages than me, and I have a feeling French and English won’t be of use here.’  
Once they got closer, Ned eased the sail, luffing it, and the pinnace slowed.  
Conseil called out three times, asking if anyone spoke French, then English, then German. The first two got no reaction, the third, a man turned to a boy of about fourteen. Whatever he had said, the boy pelted off toward the church. Two men went into the boat house on the landward side and reappeared on the wooden pier, waving them in.  
‘Conseil, go forward and be ready to pass the painter,’ Ned said, taking more speed off by continuing to ease the sail.  
Very soon, the painter was in the hands of the two men, and they guided the pinnace all the way in and made it fast. They then saw Conseil point to the man lying in the boat, and saw for themselves the bandaged head, the dried blood in the copper hair. Conseil then made a bow-shape with his hands, pointed it down, and said one word. ‘Maelstrom’.  
Two other men had joined the group and the four of them spoke rapidly in their own language. Two of them went and picked up a board that was long enough and wide enough to hold the Professor, then the boy was back, along with the village priest, both a bit out of breath.  
  
  
  
Nemo returned to the platform about the time of the mid-day meal, of which Ranjit well knew his friend had not partaken. It looked as if he had not taken the time to do anything but comb his hair with his fingers and return topside. Immediately, he began pacing the platform, trying to peer through the stubborn fog. He actually signed for an increase in speed as they continued the search pattern. Nemo did not speak, but Ranjit placed close attention to everything about him - his expressions (closed), his movements (restless), where his attention went. Ranjit could tell his friend was thinking, and thinking hard. He did not press. When Nemo was ready to speak, he would.  
And he eventually did. They were once again seated on the beacon housing.  
‘Ranjit,’ Nemo said, his voice quiet, low. ‘We were given a second chance. I don’t know why or how. I do know, however, I am not going to make the same mistakes again, throw this chance away. Harm myself and all of you, my friends. We will no longer take vengeance, nor make war. Violence was the wrong course for me to chart. There are other, better, ways to fight oppression and encourage freedom. Once we are at our home port, and we have all had rest, and made repairs, we will sit down, all of us together, and examine alternatives. Let the rest of our friends know this. If they have ideas of their own, those would be most welcome.’  
He ran a hand across tired eyes. ‘I will, of course, say this to all once we arrive to port. I just… can’t do it right now.’  
‘I understand,’ Ranjit said with equal quiet. ‘They will understand, too. I’ll let everyone know. But, Nemo, you weren’t the only one to chart this course, you cannot take all of the responsibility or blame, everyone was pushing for it. We all share the decisions, and the weight of what we wrought. And I think your choice to be very wise. I am here for you, my brother. We have left you to carry the burden of everything alone for far too long. You have cared for us, but we failed to care for you. No more. I also shall not make the same mistakes twice.’  
Ranjit got up. ‘I’m bringing you food. If you cannot sleep, you need to eat, you know this. Then I’m going to send Simon up here and I’m going to sleep. I’ll come right back up if you need me, you only have to call.’  
Nemo nodded. ‘Thank you, Ranjit.’  
  
  
  
Within two hours, the Professor was safely in bed at the home of a young fisherman, his wife, and their four-month-old daughter. The village priest, Father Sigbjørn, had cleaned and neatly stitched the wound on the Professor’s forehead. He and Conseil conversed easily in German, Conseil translating for his friends, and Father Sigbjørn for the young couple, Nils and Anja Baardsen.  
Now, with the professor tended but still unaware, Conseil and Ned were also asleep on pallets, one on either side of the bed. The night table had been moved to a corner, the oil lamp unlit since there was no night.   
Father Sigbjørn had not pressed any of them for details once Conseil had given their names and said they had been shipwrecked in the Maelstrom, for Ned and Conseil were plainly exhausted and quite worried about the Professor. Instead, they were given some food, and shown straight to their pallets after.  
It was mid-afternoon, but Father Sigbjørn doubted they would awaken any time soon. As he left the small house, he turned to Nils and Anja. ‘Please send for me should the Professor awaken, or if there is anything else, do not mind the hour.’  
  
  
  
Ranjit slept for about six hours, and woke refreshed. Quickly, he had a shower bath, changed into fresh clothes, and headed straight for the commons. Paritosh, Mateo and Jahi had served everyone their dinner, and had just themselves joined their friends to share the evening meal.  
On sight of Ranjit, Paritosh nodded toward the galley. ‘There are two covered plates keeping warm, Ranjit, one for you and one for Nemo.’  
‘Has he been below at all this afternoon?’ Ranjit asked.  
Paritosh shook his head. ‘No, and no-one has brought him food. I’m sure they’re offering, and I’m equally sure he’s been refusing it, just as he has been for the last month. He’s too thin, Ranjit. He’s never had extra weight to begin with. It seems like you’re the only one who can get him to eat.’  
‘Thank you, Paritosh,’ he said quietly.  
Ranjit went into the galley, and put the kettle on to boil, then took up one of the plates. Uncovering it, he ate quickly but neatly, knowing he needed the food as much as he had needed the sleep. He then chose the largest mug he could find, and added a packet of a medicinal tea that was always kept in the galley. It was made to soothe an upset stomach, or provide a restorative to someone unable to eat. It was delicious, deliberately made so to appeal to one nauseated or without appetite. Ranjit appreciated his solid, good dinner, but he doubted Nemo would be able to handle the plate awaiting him. Not now. Tea first. Then maybe Nemo might be willing to accept a bowl of cod soup later.  
Ranjit let the tea steep, then removed the packet from the mug, put its lid on, and headed up.  
He stopped at the pilothouse first, and looked out the glass port. The fog had lifted, they were along a coast. Nemo, with spyglass to eye, was scouring the shore. Simon was back on watch, now Raj was on the platform with Nemo.  
‘Hullo, Ranjit,’ the first officer said. ‘Fog lifted completely about three hours ago. Nemo is certain we fell victim to the Moskstraumen, we’re in Norway, and this string of islands are the Lofotens. We’re on the East side of them, pulled in by that tide. So the search grid we were doing was actually between these islands and mainland Norway, not in open sea as we’d thought.’  
Ranjit looked at the chart, now properly marked. They knew exactly where they were based on visual sightings and bearings, and he was relieved.  
He looked at Simon. ‘Your opinion, my friend, how is Nemo doing?’  
‘Struggling,’ Simon said immediately. ‘We talked a little when I was still out there, but he got quieter and quieter. Raj used the signed language about half an hour ago, he said Nemo now isn’t speaking at all. He’ll just nod or shake his head to questions.’  
Ranjit nodded. ‘Thank you, Simon. I’ll go relieve Raj. I’ll look after Nemo. And if I must, I will take over command. As chief officer, that is my right if we deem him unwell or unfit. This for his sake, you know I’m not interested in command. But we need to take care of him now. I should have done this six weeks ago.’ At a startled look from Simon, Ranjit shook his head. ‘I can’t explain now, can’t breach that trust. But if he made mistakes, so did we. He told me already he does not want to make the same mistakes again, and neither do I.’  
‘Be it well, Ranjit,’ Simon said, his demeanour very serious. ‘I trust you, your decisions, and I agree, we need to look after him. I will support anything you choose, just let me know what you need.’  
Ranjit nodded, and headed for the platform.  
His younger brother saw him first. Raj raised a hand in greeting, and when Ranjit was close enough for speaking distance, Raj pointed at the land. ‘Lofoten islands, we’re in Norway. Nemo’s looking for any sign of wreckage, or the pinnace having beached or found shelter. We’re plotting our position every fifteen minutes.’  
Ranjit nodded. ‘Thank you, Raj. Go rest, now.’  
Raj touched his shoulder as he headed for the hatch, and Nemo lowered the spyglass. At the sound of Ranjit’s voice, he turned round. Ranjit sat on the beacon housing, holding the tea, where Nemo joined him. He thought he might have to argue to get his friend to take the mug, but Nemo immediately accepted it and began sipping at it.  
He finished the entire serving, obviously grateful for its soothing properties. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly.  
Ranjit nodded, and the two scanned the shoreline in silence.  
Periodically, Nemo got up to study closely the shore with his spyglass, then sit back down when nothing was revealed.  
It was Ranjit who eventually broke the silence. In a voice as gentle as he could speak, three words.  
‘You loved him.’  
It was not a question.  
Nemo nodded, looking away.  
‘Then something - not good - happened between you two after we left the South Pole.’  
Another nod.  
‘And now, this,’ Ranjit said very softly.  
Nemo nodded once more, then a feathery whisper.  
‘I still love him.’  
  
  
  
It was about four in the morning, and Nemo was having difficulty keeping his eyes open. They would close, his head would begin to lower, then he would jerk himself awake. After this happened for about the sixth time, Ranjit put a gentle hand on his shoulder.  
‘Nemo, I’m sorry. So very, very sorry. But it’s time.’  
Ranjit looked at Nemo’s exhausted face, saw the pain in his dark eyes.  
‘Are you alright, my brother?’  
‘No,’ Nemo said softly. A pause, then, ‘But I will be, given time. I promise.’  
He stood up, visibly steeling himself. ‘I will take this departure alone. This I cannot delegate. I just need . . . a few minutes. Once we are underway and at passage depth, I will call Simon and Maksim to take their watch. We’ll run direct to Tenerife with no stopping at night, so we’ll keep the night watches as we have been. I promise a good rest for all of us once we get back to home port.’  
Ranjit nodded understanding, and he and Nemo quietly quit the platform. Once inside, Ranjit headed for the commons, and Nemo to the wheelhouse after securing the hatch.  
  
  
  
In the small house, Conseil woke to the mantel clock striking four times. After five hours of sleep, up long enough to eat a dinner of smoked salmon, potatoes and cabbage, then more sleep, he felt rested. He could hear Ned snoring, all was peaceful, and they were safe.  
He then heard a noise, it came from the Professor! Just a soft noise, but Conseil got up immediately and, kneeling next to the bed, he could see the Professor was stirring, beginning to move a little.  
‘Ned,’ Conseil whispered loudly. ‘Ned! Wake up!’  
Ned did so, sitting up immediately. ‘Conseil, what -?’  
‘The Professor, he’s coming round,’ Conseil said.  
Ned mirrored Conseil’s position, and they each claimed one of the Professor’s hands, watching him closely.  
  
  
Nemo relieved Raj and Thierry of the watch. Once alone, he stood quietly, looking out one of the ports. He wanted to say something, offer something of solace, farewell, regret, apology. He couldn’t think of any words at all, he had absolutely none.  
Finally, he lowered his head and eyes and turned to the controls. Grasping the engine order telegraph and ringing to full ahead, he turned the wheel to point his ship South.  
As the _Nautilus_ emerged from the round turn, Nemo looked back at the wake that was leaving. A single tear spilled down his right cheek.  
A soft whisper.  
‘Pierre… ’  
  
  
  
The Professor was becoming restless. He then pulled his left hand free of Ned’s, raised it partially into the air. His brow furrowed, he cried out.  
‘Nemo!’  
Ned’s face immediately clouded with anger and his mouth opened, but before he could say a word, Conseil cut him off.  
‘ _No_ , Ned! Not now!’ He nodded to the Professor, whose eyes were struggling to open.  
The professor’s hand dropped back to the quilt as his eyes finally opened. He saw Conseil and Ned immediately, and a smile emerged. ‘My friends!’  
The three friends embraced.  
  
  
  
Tears blurring his vision, Nemo angled the fins for diving, and the _Nautilus_ slipped beneath the waves.  
Less than two minutes later, there was no sign that she had ever been there.


	3. Chapter 3

Pierre Aronnax looked at the last words he’d added to his journal. The final ones.  
  
_Captain Nemo and myself._  
  
He set down his borrowed pen, capped the borrowed ink. Yesterday, he had graduated from being allowed to sit up in bed to being allowed to sit at the table. Today, he had been able to bathe in the tin bathtub in front of the fire, and his own clothes from the _Nautilus_ had been returned to him, cleaned. It was a relief to have the clean clothes and the bath. On board the _Nautilus_ , he had quite gotten used to daily washing. He was grateful that his lank, oily red hair had been returned to its clean copper, and grateful for having his clothes back. The byssus clothing was lighter in weight, much softer, and much, much warmer.  
He carefully set the pen and ink on the shelf where they belonged, letting the page in his journal dry. He kept an eye on that journal at nearly all times. There was nothing he needed to hide in its writing. He’d happily shown both Ned and Conseil many entries over the last months. But now . . .  
There were four drawings he’d carefully removed from his sketchbook, three of which could never be seen by anyone but himself. There were also three notes from Captain Nemo, but those were more research related, though undeniably kind and cordial. But he couldn’t bear the idea of losing them, written in Nemo’s own hand. And the photograph that Nemo had made for him, taken in the greatest depths of the sea from the salon.  
He touched the bandage around his abused head, which held folded cloths against the wound, still healing. He’d been unconscious for about 30 hours. As a doctor, he knew that was not a good thing. He also knew, in these remote Lofoten islands, any care was very limited. He would recover on his own, or not at all. He could see straight now, he could think normally, his speech was fine. There was no specific weakness in any of his body parts, he was just weak all over, but slowly gaining strength. Today, it had been he himself who took off the bandages made from clean rags, to examine and clean his own wound, carefully stitched together by Father Sigbjørn. He’d likely end up with a crooked, puckered scar at his hairline, as his head had hit the iron timber quite hard, and the iron had not been smooth.  
The biggest danger was infection. He had cleaned the wound carefully, then sat quietly in a chair for half an hour to let it have some air and dry. Tincture of time. That’s what it would take for the wound to heal, for him to get stronger, for when they could board the steamship and head South. The three agreed to give the pinnace to the family that sheltered them in this remote fishing village, in return for their care and shelter and provisions. The strong pinnace would serve them for many years, allowing more of the family to assist in making their living from the sea.   
He sighed as he closed the journal, with its final words and hidden secrets. He made his way back to the bed he’d been given, put his journal under the pillow, then lay down, curled on his side, his eyes closed. He was not sorry to lie down again, he was still not strong. But sleep was the farthest thing from his mind. He had to deal with some other things. And he couldn’t discuss any of it with Conseil and Ned, even though they were both his friends. They would never understand, let alone accept, the things that weighed so heavily on him.   
Conseil knew part of it - that Professor Pierre Aronnax would never marry in the conventional sense, that he was not interested in women and, to use his own words, quite enjoyed serial monogamy. He was very lucky in where he lived, and in his profession, neither of which would require him to marry against his nature. Though, without a conventional wife and all the social connections that a married couple could make, he would advance no further at the museum. That made no difference to him. He loved what he did - the students, the classes, the writing and lectures, the field research. He had no interest in administration or social climbing.  
But what Conseil didn’t know . . . That part of one night. The fact that, to the very end, he had been torn between horror and dismay at what Nemo had become, wanting to run as fast as he could go, and yet. And yet. How much did his rash decision, one that he began to regret the second he had made it, weigh on the scale, add the final straw to an already-unbearable burden?   
He was the experienced one, he was comfortable in his own skin, knew who he was, what he was. Nemo . . . surprisingly inexperienced for someone who had been married and had been a father. Not just the fact that Pierre was male, just inexperienced in anything beyond rather basic intimacy. He reacted with surprise at simple things, like being held close for a long period, having his hair stroked, his face touched and admired. And even kissing, once it went past a gentle, lightly explorative one. Nemo had opened up trust, it was he who had shyly taken Pierre’s hand, started the courtship. And, that night, Nemo had simply called him Pierre.  
And Pierre, later, after watching Nemo sleep in utter peace for about two hours, drawing that beautiful face, had quietly washed, dressed, and left. He thought Nemo would regret, actually resent, this moment of intimacy, this loss of control, and also probably resent that Pierre now knew something very, very private about him. And Pierre had no intention of staying to be on the receiving end of . . . whatever sudden change of mood might result.   
The next morning, before Nemo could even say a word, Pierre had met him with very formal correctness. Nemo had come out of his own quarters, wearing his usual clothes, but not the indoor jacket, and his shirt collar was open at his throat, and Pierre could see the medallion of the _Nautilus_ that he had never seen until last night. Nemo’s face had softened at sight of Pierre, only to then see the Professor stand in the salon, bow formally, and with stiff correctness, greet him.  
‘Good morning, Captain,’ he had said. ‘I trust that all is well this morning?’  
Nemo’s face had changed to great surprise, caught completely off-guard. The dark, expressive eyes had widened, then a brief flash of something else. Then all expression left both his face and eyes, and with all the dignity he could muster, Nemo had bowed in return, equally correct.  
‘Good morning, Professor,’ he had replied with complete calm. ‘I shall leave you to your good studies. Please kindly excuse me.’ And he had returned to his quarters, with no breakfast, and no dignified way out, for Pierre was in the salon, and the only other door in Nemo’s quarters led directly into Pierre’s room. That room where he had awakened alone.  
Pierre still felt crawling guilt for that, and what he’d written in his journal was all too true. One word from Nemo, one gesture, and he would have stayed. Could not have left.  
No, there wasn’t a soul in the world who would understand that dilemma. Well, just one. Maybe. If he still lived . . .  
  
  
  
Two more days passed before Pierre was well enough to go outside, at least according to Father Sigbjørn, not to mention Conseil and Ned. The two kept an eye on him nearly all the time, as did Madame Baardsen. He didn’t object. Head injuries were tricksy things and, as a doctor, Pierre knew that it would have been unwise for him to be left alone for any extended period of time.   
This day had dawned clear, the mists and fogs having withdrawn overnight. Spring was arriving in this remote, spare, and beautiful land. The wind was only light airs, the Sun gently warm.   
With Conseil on one side of him and Ned on the other, Pierre made his slow way across the gravel road to the rocky beach, where his friends helped him settle on a large rock. The Sun felt kind on his face and hair, the freshness of the air reviving. He looked seaward, part of him wishing he would see the _Nautilus_ rise to renew the air and for the chief officer to come out and look around and say his usual phrase…  
‘I wonder if he survived. I hope he did.’  
Pierre hadn’t realised he’d spoken aloud until Ned emitted a derisive snort.  
‘If he did, I hope he broke both his arms, both his legs, and his damned neck!’  
‘Friend Ned!’ cried Conseil. ‘I don’t think monsieur is ready for this.’  
Ned, immediately contrite, said, ‘I’m sorry, Professor.’  
Pierre sighed. ‘Both of you, my friends, after everything we’ve been through, my name is Pierre. Not Professor, and most certainly not “monsieur”. I would be very grateful if both of you would address me as Pierre. Conseil, I know when we are at work in the Museum, we need a little more formality. Please, and only then, use Professor. You are coming into your own in science, and that very well. When we return to Paris, I intend to submit for your degree. It is time for you to grow, my friend. It is time that you become something other than servant and student.’  
Ned grinned. ‘Then you can quit with the occasional “Mr Land” and call me Ned, Pierre.’  
Pierre smiled. ‘Very well, Ned.’  
Conseil sighed. ‘I hope monsieur understands this will be very difficult. The degree defence will be much easier.’  
All three laughed.  
Pierre, sitting in the Sun on his rock with his friends, let his eyes trace back to the sea.  
_Nemo…_  
  
  
  
The next afternoon, they took a longer walk, and Pierre was grateful to sit down in the shared room after. He took the one chair, and Conseil and Ned seated themselves on the bed.  
Pierre’s journal was on the small table next to the chair and, out of habit, he reached for it. But his handed slipped, and he knocked it off the table instead.  
In front of his helpless eyes, in what felt like slow motion, the journal’s pages fanned open, the loose papers fell out and spread themselves over the scrubbed wooden floor, one of the drawings of Nemo coming to rest on Ned’s foot.  
Pierre was unable to move at all, he watched as the harpooner bent to pick the drawing up by one corner.  
Nemo, asleep. Hair tousled, nightshirt unbuttoned, his medallion visible, one hand curled near his cheek, the other resting on his chest. It was a very detailed picture, including the background. The part of the headboard, the small painting on the bulkhead. There was no question at all that these were Pierre’s quarters, this was Pierre’s bed. And this was a drawing from life.  
Ned’s face looked like a lowering storm, but he simply set the drawing carefully on the patchwork quilt, stood up, nodded once at Pierre, left the room, then the house.  
Conseil, unruffled as always, quietly collected the drawings, the notes from Nemo, and the underwater photograph Nemo had made and returned them to the journal, and the journal to the table.  
Pierre buried his face in his hands.  
‘I’ll go see to Ned, make sure he doesn’t do anything rash,’ Conseil said quietly.  
Pierre only nodded.  
After a few minutes in the now-quiet room, Pierre sat up, opened his eyes, and drew the journal into his lap. He opened it, and looked at the four drawings, three of Nemo asleep, the fourth a profile portrait from the shoulders up, sketched rapidly on the platform when Nemo was sitting on the beacon housing. He had filled in the most minute details later.  
He looked for a long time at Nemo’s face, then closed the journal. He took off his boots and lay down on top of the bed, his back to the door, journal hugged to his chest. And then allowed himself to grieve.  
  
Conseil caught up with Ned on the rocky beach.  
Ned stopped his long-strided walk when he noticed Conseil, and waited for the younger man to join him. His face was still stormy. Conseil waited patiently for the storm to break. He did not have to wait long.  
‘How could he? I mean, with that - ? Is his choice of men usually that bad?’ Ned said angrily.  
That caught Conseil by surprise. ‘You’re not upset about -?’  
‘No,’ Ned cut him off. ‘I know people like him. Sailors, even some officers. Good shipmates, good seamen. But why Captain Nemo, of all people? Did you know about this?’  
‘I wondered,’ Conseil said calmly. ‘But I would never ask. I have met his companions in the past. I know about his nature. He has never chosen a bad man.’  
‘He did this time,’ Ned snarled.  
Conseil didn’t say anything, allowed his friend to rant and rage. Usually, the professor would try to reason with Ned, but Conseil decided it was better to just let him get it all out of his system.   
It didn’t take long. With Conseil’s quiet presence and calm demeanour, Ned’s outburst was not long, and he eventually calmed, looking rather sheepish.  
‘Friend Ned, I know you dislike the Captain, but don’t attack the Professor about this. Leave it alone. He doesn’t deserve that, especially now.’  
‘If he felt that way toward Nemo, why did he leave with us? Why didn’t he stay?’  
Conseil shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe because he thought we wouldn’t leave without him. Ned, he may well have chosen freedom for you and me over what he would have chosen for himself.’  
Ned walked over to the rocks that had become their outdoor furniture, and sat down. Conseil joined him.  
‘I don’t understand the hold the Captain had on the Professor. That’s a very unequal relationship, a captor and a captive.’ Ned paused then, thinking. ‘Though it felt much less like that when Captain Nemo took us to the pearl fishery, let me hunt the dugong, the things he took Pierre to see, and us, also. Even I agreed then, it was worth it to see all of that. And the conversations they had! Those two and their damned crazy ideas!’  
‘It’s those ideas,’ said Conseil. ‘The Professor and the Captain could talk about any of the sciences together. They could understand each other in a way many others would not. I saw the look on the Professor’s face the first time we saw Nemo, also. So there was that, too. When a person meets another person whom they find comely, and then discover that they can talk freely and share with that one person their life’s work, and be fully understood, that would be a rather powerful combination. It must have been even more so for the Captain. His companions know of seamanship and engineering, but to have someone there who shared the passion of exploration and Nature, who could appreciate the visual and literary arts, and music. The Professor has always enjoyed those, as well.’  
Ned looked, out of habit, seaward. Then realised the Professor had been doing it every time they came outside.  
‘He’s been looking for the _Nautilus_ for the last two days,’ Ned said quietly. ‘Always looking seaward, hoping Captain Nemo survived. And he let it slip yesterday, and I wished great harm on the Captain. Conseil, I … regret that. I have a temper, as everyone knows. I’ll try harder to be…more sensible. And I’ll let the Professor - Pierre- know that everything is alright. We’d better go see to him, make sure he is alright, as well.’  
They returned to the house and the shared room to find Pierre asleep. Ned looked for a long time at his face. He looked aged now. Tired. Worn.  
Silently, Ned bent down to take the blue-and-white quilt from his own pallet and spread it over the sleeping man.  
  
Pierre woke just before dinner. He didn’t open his eyes right away, just rose to wakefulness slowly. He was covered and warm. The sleep had helped, he thought he might actually be ready to face whatever reactions his drawings might have aroused in his friends. He sighed and tucked the journal back under his pillow, opened his eyes, and turned over to find Ned sitting in the chair, obviously watching over him.  
Before Pierre could say anything, Ned nodded at him. ‘It’s alright, Pro - Pierre. How are you doing? Feeling better after a bit of sleep?’  
Pierre scrubbed at his face and eyes, then moved the quilt aside and sat up. ‘Yes, thank you, Ned,’ he said quietly. ‘Where is Conseil?’  
‘In the kitchen, helping Madame Baardsen with dinner,’ Ned said with a grin.  
Pierre combed his hair with his fingers, and bent to retrieve a boot. ‘I suppose you have some questions for me,’ he said.  
‘I do, but not hard ones, Pierre. I’m not going to attack you or the Captain, or make anything difficult for you. I guess I just want to know your version of the story. But not until you’ve had a good dinner down you. Take some time, wake up, get yourself sorted. I’ll go sit in the kitchen and keep my big feet, and big mouth, out of the way!’  
Pierre couldn’t help but smile at that, and put on his boots with no small amount of relief that there obviously would not be a confrontation. But it still would not be easy.  
After a few minutes of thought, Pierre withdrew his journal from under the pillow. He turned to the blank pages in back, and carefully tore out half of one. He then neatly tore that into strips and marked three places in his journal. Having Ned and Conseil read these sections would cover a lot of ground, give some context to their questions and, hopefully, his answers.  
  
With the language barrier, dinner was rather quiet, mainly smiles, gestures, expressions of thanks. The food, as always, was plain home cooking, but very good, and it was obvious that young Madame Baardsen was more than pleased at their enjoyment.  
Ned and Conseil sent Pierre back to their shared room after dinner, and they also gently shooed Madame Baardsen to go sit in front of the fire with her husband and child as they cleared the table and did the washing up.  
When they returned to their room, they found Pierre already in bed, propped up on pillows, his journal on his lap.  
Conseil seated himself on the end of Pierre’s bed, Ned took the chair. And they let Pierre take the lead.  
‘You both saw the drawings. I cannot and will not hide the truth of them from you. Those were drawings from life, in my quarters. We did have only that one night. And yes, I loved him.’  
Ned nodded. ‘You loved him, and he loved you back, apparently. At least once. Those drawings are surprisingly peaceful. Knowing that, why did you agree to escape with us? I know I pushed you, and pushed too hard, probably. You tried to put it off several times. But, this time, I was really surprised when you made it to the pinnace, you were upset, in a near-panic, and pushed at us to go, go!’  
Pierre sighed. ‘And that was not the first planned escape. The first one, after we passed the Strait of Gibraltar. That was hard for me. I have written my thoughts in various areas. If both of you would indulge me, it is easier for me to let my journal speak for me. I have marked it, you see. Start on this first marked page, with Ned saying, “Tonight. We’ll do it tonight”. Start with that half-page, full page next, top third of the one after.’  
Pierre then passed his journal to his friends. Conseil got up to read over Ned’s shoulder. They took their time, reading carefully. Conseil finished first, and looked up with his customary calm. Ned finished. He looked up at Pierre.  
‘You didn’t fear your own death in this escape attempt, but you feared more that Nemo would be angry, or worse yet, saddened, at our desertion?’  
A nod from Pierre. ‘I can’t explain it, but that’s the truth,’ he said quietly. ‘By that time, I already had the impression that something terrible had happened in his life, but he was so private, so secret, I had no idea of details. But I worried about him. As a person, not a Captain, nor a figurehead. In this entire voyage, he has always had burdens, it was rare to see him just get to be a person. Most of the time, if he got to set things aside and be himself, he was quiet, peaceful. Playing his music. Reading or writing or looking out the open panels. Sometimes sitting on the beacon housing, just enjoying the sea and sky.’  
Pierre then looked directly at Ned. ‘The next reading, I didn’t tell you all, but these are the details, when you pressed me to confront Captain Nemo about what he intended to do about us. I started out with, well, me and him, then asked your freedom. You know the result of this one. And I don’t think any of you noticed his reaction, to later lash himself on the platform in a violent electrical storm. And I joined him. It was not a wise decision on either of our parts. We did not even speak a single word to one another. I think that conversation tore him apart, though he would never admit to such a thing. I know it tore me apart. That conversation was… costly. To both me and him. Us out there, making bad decisions, was the result.’  
Pierre lowered his eyes, turned his face away, but passed the journal back to his friends. ‘Start with Ned saying, “I’ve already told you what we can do”, read the next five pages. That was a violent storm.’  
Ned and Conseil again read, heads together over the journal.  
When they had both finished, Conseil was still his calm self. Ned shook his head, blew out a breath.  
‘That went bad really fast. I know you were protesting, but I pushed hard. I see why you were reluctant. Very bad timing. And I’m really sorry.’  
‘Thank you,’ Pierre said quietly. ‘So this brings us back to your original question - why did I go? And why the panicked exit? The last thirteen pages of my journal. Nemo, he lost his homeland to whatever country is running these warships outside the law - they fly no flag. He lost his homeland, and also his mother, his father, his wife, and his children. I gather they were very young… I play a little stupid in the journal, but he told me he was Indian, after he rescued that pearl diver. So those illegal warships can only be British. And at the end, well, it is all in there…’  
Again, he passed his journal to his friends but, this time, he slid down the pillows to lie flat, then turned onto his side, his back to both the door and his friends. He pulled his blankets up to his ears, and shut his eyes.  
Ned and Conseil read. To the very end. And even the unflappable Conseil drew a deep, calming breath. And ventured a comment.  
‘I didn’t know he broke down after that sinking, in front of a portrait of his family. And when you were leaving - he was sobbing like that.’  
Ned shook his head. ‘Damnation,’ he swore softly.  
‘Why did you leave, Pierre?’ Ned asked.  
‘Because I knew you and Conseil would not have your freedom if I didn’t, you would not go without me, and you would hate both me and Nemo if I stayed any longer. As for why I was in a panic when I reached you and the pinnace, it was that silent crying, Nemo’s regrets. I had mere seconds to make a choice. I had to leave him at a time when he may have needed me the most. It was not my first mistake. Neither of you have asked, how did things go from the peace in those drawings to, well, this? I have left him twice, the first was utterly wrong. I fear the second also, but I had to chose, and choose rapidly.’  
Pierre was silent for a short time. Then spoke, his voice quiet. ‘That one night. It was the day he had confirmed he’d reached the South Pole. I was with him for that, just the two of us. After we returned to the Nautilus, we sat side by side in the salon, sharing our notes. We’d had a growing accord, and after a short time, we were both quite distracted by one another. It was he who initiated the courtship, but not in the manner you would expect. He was shy, rather awkward, even. It did not take long for me to realise he was…inexperienced. But it was genuine, on both sides.’  
‘Later, I got up, excused myself to use the necessary. He just smiled, a small smile, he was very peaceful and visibly sleepy. I wasn’t gone long, when I came back, he was already sound asleep. I sat in a chair near him, and just enjoyed the peace of it all. Him. I drew him in my sketchbook, the three drawings you saw. I was still reluctant to disturb him, I knew he seemed to have problems sleeping, and his rest then was profoundly peaceful. So I washed and dressed and went to sleep on a sofa in the salon.’  
Pierre sighed. ‘I woke up early, then started thinking. Too much thinking. I came to the conclusion that he would wake up and regret everything, as he was so obsessive about his privacy and his boundaries. I didn’t know how I could handle such a change in mood. So, when he got up and came out of the door from his quarters, looking for me, I was already awake and waiting for him. I stood up, bowed most correctly, and said, “Good morning, Captain. I trust that all is well this morning?” I regretted it the second I really looked at his face. And then the hurt in his eyes after that…’  
Pierre became very still.  
Ned and Conseil exchanged a long look.  
‘He caught himself, bowed back with equally-stiff correctness, said he would leave me to my good studies, wished me a good morning, and withdrew to his quarters.’  
Conseil shook his head.  
Ned scowled. ‘Damnation!’ he swore again. ‘One thing I do know about him, he didn’t trust easily. I’m sorry, Pierre, but after a liaison like that, which takes a lot of trust, that had to hurt.’  
‘I know,’ Pierre said softly, the sorrow in his voice obvious. ‘I could not undo that. I will regret it for the rest of my life.’  
The three friends were silent for a time.  
Then Ned spoke, voice calm, quiet, thoughtful. ‘I said yesterday, in one of my innumerable fits of temper, that I wished harm on Captain Nemo, if he lived. I regret that, Pierre. I hope, like you do, that the _Nautilus_ survived that, and every man on board is without serious injury. Especially him. That “Enough” was not suicidal, that was real regret. He needs that second chance, that start-over. And I hope his crew looks after him while he tries to make that change. A crew has to support a good Captain.’  
‘Thank you, Ned,’ Pierre said.  
‘Is there anything we can do for you?’ Ned asked.  
Pierre turned himself around to face his friends.  
‘You’ve already done everything I’ve needed. Both of you. You now know the story, you know the truth, my two friends know this and have not rejected me. And I no longer carry this story alone. That is everything I could hope for, more than ever I expected, and thank you for that gift.’  
  
  
_NOTES:_  
  
_To read in Pierre’s journal (the novel) the parts he showed Ned and Conseil, they are the following, just find the words Pierre told his friends to start with (requires an unabridged translation, ideally a properly-translated one):_  
  
_1) Part Two, Chapter 8, ‘The Bay of Vigo’_  
 _2) Part Two, Chapter 19, ‘The Gulf Stream’_  
 _3) Part Two, Chapter 21, ‘A Hecatomb_ ’


End file.
